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Post by Haji Morei on Apr 20, 2015 14:18:40 GMT -5
 Well, I guess it's time for me to kick it back into gear. I had been out of commission for some time after the last bomb attack, and I needed to get back into things. The bomb had taken so much from me, more than just my arm, but it also shredded apart whatever hope I had that there was a peaceful solution to reforming this school. More than ever, I supported Takehiro's Reform Act, I needed to be a valuable soldier for it.
I made my way to the school gym, dressed in a tank top and some sweat pants. The first step was toughening my body up, and so I took to the weight bench. I started with a good 200 pounds, lifting the weights with very little strain. Despite my left arm being made of metal, it was well crafted and gave me just as much use as my old arm used to. However, the main strain would be on my right arm and my left shoulder. Gritting my teeth, I powered through my reps until I began to break a heavy sweat and my arms felt a lot heavier, setting the weights back on the bench and taking a short break. It wasn't enough, and I needed to push myself even harder. |
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Post by Newton Jones on Apr 20, 2015 15:04:46 GMT -5
► newton Jones  Soldier Sinner Death |
Newton entered the gym like any other day, He had prepared himself for a long, hot day and had begun to miss the smell of rusted metal, the feel of the sticky leather under his legs and back, and especially the feel of the cold steel under his grip. Back in the Military he remembered spending hours, sometimes days on end in the weight room, lifting the barrels of oil over his head and carrying containers of ammunition across base. He remembered the sound of the tanks rolling by as he and his compatriots, Medics and Soldiers allied, lifting the heavy shells and bombs until their muscles tore and burned.
But as the years passed the smoke slowly did as well, the bullets stopped flying and the guns were no longer experimental. The engines rusted and broke down, and the planes no longer filled the sky with shattered steel and aluminum. He no longer had to drop into the forest, swim in the oceans or fly through the skies. He no longer carried a grenade, but a pencil, he no longer threw a knife, only a paper. He was no longer being told where to go, only who he was. Newton missed the violence, he missed his friends, the soldier couldn't die, he would never die. Sitting on the edge of a leather seat, he looked down at the weight below him wondering how many repetitions would be required before the weight rendered his arm useless.
But as he was lost in his nostalgia he heard the grunting of someone close by, turning his eyes, for a split second, he thought he was looking at an old friend. Someone from far away, who he knew very close and dearly. Someone who could bend the walls of a fortress if he truly wanted to, someone who had died for him, and he had died for. Newton knew that man, but not this man, who's arm was metal, not just for show, but a part of his soul. A broken arm for a broken soul.
Slowly walking over, the older man lay beside him on a neighboring bench, adjusting th weight limit of the bar before taking his position, waiting for the man to stop before he lifted the 210 Lbs worth of cold steel.
"I've never seen you before," He said in between lifts, his arms beginning to get the familiar feel for the pain. "I'm Newton, Tell me, how far in the darkness were you?" he asked the man, there weren't many people in the world who could carry their burden like him, a normal civilian wouldn't be found here with a fake arm. A soldier knows another soldier regardless of what's not there.. Or worse, who's not there anymore
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